Nips and Knives
Knife play, Anth thought, enjoying how the words clicked together like a bondage puzzle and bounded around inside her decadent mind. She’d never known or heard of its meaning or existence in the world of kink and fetish until she’d met D, when a chance meeting on Snapchat had brought them and their bodies together. “Mystery is the spice of life,” he’d told her one evening on the social media platform, his full name camouflaged from her.
Dirty bastard, she thought, lying in bed. A pulse rippled through her g-spot, the nipples of her H-cup calcium cannons growing to bulbous proportions. Anth threw the bed covers off her, revealing her nude, racetrack-curved form, and looked down at the ginormous mounds of flesh attached to her chest which blocked out the view of her feet and toes. They make Devilish D squirt like an over-excited 13-year-old boy when he flops them out of my creaking bra. She smiled as the first few drops of love honey dribbled from her honey pot. Makes me so fucking horny.
Anth’s hand went to her cunt, her index finger teasing the folds.
“Mmm,” she said, biting her lower lip. Flesh crunched; a metallic taste flooded her mouth. Do I have time to click one out before her gets here with his bag of scream and orgasm-inducing tricks?
Her digit slipped inside her slickness. Anth’s back arched, and her mind wandered to the top drawer of her bedside table. It was filled with various blades, stabbing and slicing weapons: butter, butcher, cheese, meat and fish-gutting knives. And, of course, the daddy of them all: the Bowie.
Let’s not forget the Kukri either, Anth thought, her breath exiting in trembling waves.
She gasped, her finger rubbing over the hard nub inside her twat’s hood as she thought about the night D had stormed into her house wielding the large Gurka weapon.
* * *
Anth sat watching TV in nothing but a babydoll and a smile. Her front door stood ajar, as planned.
What if he’s a lunatic? she wondered, wringing her sweaty hands together. The urge to close, bolt and barricade the main entrance to her house had her arse hovering mere inches off the sofa’s cushion.
She sat back down, eyes darting towards the clock. Two minutes to midnight.
“Be ready for me by the stroke of 12,” he’d told her. “I won’t be late.”
Anth squirmed, her bladder pleading with her.
I could just lock the door and turn the lights out. He’d think I’ve gone to bed, fed up with waiting. Was he seriously coming, or was he like all other men on social media: full of shit?
She glanced at the clock, her sexy nightie now glued to her back. Five past midnight.
Her heartrate slowed and a trembling laugh escaped her. Another one full of BS, giving it the big man, she thought, getting up and switching the TV off. Mind you, there must be something wrong with me, agreeing to something like that. Especially on a first—
Her front door kicked open with such force that it rebounded off the wall, causing a bang so loud it tore the stillness of the night in half. Anth thought her throat and lungs were going to tear asunder as a terror-scream emerged from her.
A large, balaclava-wearing figure stood in her doorway, shoulders almost touching either side of the frame.
“Now you’re going to get it, bitch,” he said. He parted one side of his army jacket and withdrew a Kukri from the waistband of his trousers. The living room light glinted off the steel as he slammed the door shut with the heel of his G.I. boot.
“Jesus Christ!D . . . Is that you?!”
“Did I say you could talk, slut? I’ve seen you out on the streets, shaking those tits and wiggling that arse. You’ve been asking for it.”
Anth took a deep breath. It is him, she thought, recalling the scripted words he’d said he would utter as he ‘broke in.’
He strode forward, his heavy footwear thudding along her wooden flooring.
“Wait . . .” she began, but her breath hitched in her throat as he grabbed her hair and wound it around his gloved hand.
He forced her up against the fireplace.
“Shit,” Anth said, her head yanked back. Liquid dribbled down her thighs, and she didn’t know if it was piss, jism or a mix of both.
Anth screamed again, her lungs on fire, as he forced the blade beneath the hem of her flimsy garment and ripped upwards, tearing it open, her tits flopping out.
* * *
“Fuck. I’m coming, I’m coming!” Anth said now, her finger working overtime inside her pussy, the sheets under her soddening. “D,” she screamed. “D!”
Anth threw her head back, eyes closed, and then a rough, calloused hand wrapped around her throat. The tip of a thumb and index finger pushed up and into to the corners of her jaw. He’d informed her it was the safest way to do choke play.
Right on time, she thought, wondering when he’d sneaked in and how much he’d watched. “Don’t stop,” she said. “Please, D.”
The grip around her oesophagus closed and a squirt of come flooded out of her, followed by a second and third gush. “Fuuuck, D! Fuck. Let me feel it. Please, let me feel it. Now!”
“Not yet,” he whispered in her ear, and with that, his grip was gone and his weight was off her.
“You fucking tease.” She laughed, opening her eyes. His six-foot-five naked frame towered over her. “Ooh, what do you have there?”
He smiled. “A new toy,” he said, holding up a knife with an eight-inch blade, its base wrapped in a gleaming black handle.
“What’s that symbol on it?”
“That’s the best part.” He winked. “It’s a German knife, and that sign on the haft is a Swastika. Apparently it belonged to an SS officer, and it was stripped off his dead body at a prisoner camp. The officer was, by all accounts, a specialist in sexual torture, acts of depravity, devil-worshiping and human experimentation.”
Anth’s mouth formed a perfect O. “How do you know all this? It sounds made-up.”
“The guy I buy all my military stuff from down at my local ex-serviceman’s shop gets his hands on the odd specialty item now and then, which he keeps to one side for me. He knows his shit, trust me.” He shrugged. “He also said it’s possessed by the officer. Not that I believed him for a second.”
Fresh excitement arose in Anth. “Use it on me,” she begged. “Threaten to cut up my clit and cleave my tits off.”
“Oh, that was the plan,” he said, stepping forward.
The sight of his erection caught Anth’s eyes and she giggled. “Are you going to poke me with that thing too?”
He nodded. “Goddamn ri—Fuck!” D said, flying forward as if yanked by an invisible force.
The tip of the blade plunged into Anth’s neck.
* * *
She gargled as, inch by inch, the steel sank deeper into her flesh.
“Anth!” D said, tears streaming down his face.
He failed to stop his hand from turning. The knife twisted in her throat and violently ripped out against his will. And he found he couldn’t release his grasp on the hilt no matter how hard he tried.
D’s hand lashed out again and again, tearing an eyeball free, hacking at Anth’s face, slicing her nose off, mutilating her tits. Blood pissed up the walls behind the headboard and pooled around D’s feet, gluing him in place.
“Anth! Anth! Oh, my God!”
As her body twitched, her numerous wounds now dribbling instead of gushing, his knife hand turned on him.
“No, Jesus, no!”
The steel swept downwards, emasculating him, and then the tip of the blade rammed through the underside of his mouth, pinning his tongue to his palate.
D stumbled backwards, smashing against bedroom furniture, crashing to the floor.
His body writhed a few times before lying still.
Horror Sleaze Trash 